


What he once called home

by chamomile_coffee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Adultery, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Gen, M/M, Sad Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:07:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25256647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamomile_coffee/pseuds/chamomile_coffee
Summary: Hello! I've had this story in my docs for a while, and I thought I'd share it here for some feedback :D I'm looking to improve, so let me know what you think! Enjoy <3
Relationships: Azazel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 4





	What he once called home

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've had this story in my docs for a while, and I thought I'd share it here for some feedback :D I'm looking to improve, so let me know what you think! Enjoy <3

Dean practically throws himself down the porch steps. Everything is red and grey and his vision is blurred by his own tears. They stream down his face as he vigorously wipes them with his sweater sleeve. He picks up his pace to a jog, then to a run. He isn’t sure where to, all he knows is that his chest hurts and his eyes sting and he would rather be _anywhere_ than at his bedroom door, staring wide-eyed at Azazel, his boyfriend, happily grinding into stranger number-well, he isn't quite sure. He runs across a road, tiny bits of gravel escaping into his worn-out shoes. Dean doesn’t bother looking to his sides, absently wondering about how convenient it would be for a car to come charging towards him and send him flying. He doesn’t think he would mind. Dean stops after a few seconds of feeling like his lungs are going to collapse. He looks around to see that he had run far out of the neighbourhood, and is now surrounded by long ears of wheat, in a field that seems like it stretches out for miles. He takes a deep breath, his being filled with the earthy smell, before dropping to his knees. Silent tears escape his eyes. Dean should be used to this. He really isn’t. The moon is full and bright tonight. Almost like someone had zoomed in on it. The wispy clouds around it glow with a silvery, white light. Dean stretches out his hand into the air, and the pearl moonlight cloaks his hand in a cool milky hue. He feels more and more like he wants the ground to swallow him whole with every passing minute. He feels like he’s been wronged, but he knows he has no right to feel that way. Why should he be crying? He’s selfish and dirty and slutty and deserves to get cheated on, and more. He deserves this, in fact, he’s lucky Azazel still even puts up with him. Dean knows all this, yet he still feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest and kicked across the floor like it’s nothing, every time. He lies back onto the soil, self-hatred and disgust worming around in his gut, wrapping around his insides and tying a tight, suffocating knot. Dean has stopped crying now. He feels the dried up tears on his face, making his skin tight and tacky. He rises from the ground, his back popping slightly as he stretches. He begins to walk back to the house. He feels numb.

The walk back home was silent, all except for a few distant birds and the crunching of gravel beneath his own feet. Dean now stands at the door of his and Azazel's shared house, knuckles grasping the doorknob. And just like clockwork, he wonders if he should even enter. Every single time he walks in on Azazel with someone, or he gets bruised or cut or forced or screamed at, he wonders if he should pack a bag and go off on his own, leave this all behind. But one reason has always kept Dean from leaving. Who else was ever going to love him? Who else would put up with how selfish Dean is? With how stupid and dirty and whore-ish he is? No one else would ever love Dean, and he doesn’t deserve it anyways, that’s what Azazel had told him and what he had eventually come to believe. Dean feels his stomach drop and his chest feels tight. Tears sting the corners of his eyes as he feels, once again, completely torn. He looks behind him, over his shoulder, into the chilly, quiet night. The wind rustles the trees ever so slightly and the moon almost seems to be calling out to him. Whispering the words "free", "happy". Reaching out its hands so it’s able to whisk Dean away to a better place. Something not unlike hope slowly rises in the boy’s heart. Dean’s fingers loosen their grip on the doorknob, almost losing contact. His eyes fill with tears at the realization of what he could have. Dean sighs. That’s just the thing. Good things just don't happen for him anymore. He turns the doorknob, and with a heavy heart and regret lacing his steps, enters what he once called home.


End file.
